


revelations that came unglued

by orphan_account



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 07:44:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4011532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What are you doing?" It's obvious but it's the only question he can come up with at the time. Jared stops stirring abruptly and looks up as if he doesn't know where he is or who's talking to him. Maybe this was Jared sleepwalking because people do that, Richard has seen it happen before, and he's trying to scrounge his brain for what you're supposed to do when Jared says:</p><p>"I'm making brownies."</p>
            </blockquote>





	revelations that came unglued

**Author's Note:**

> These two are pretty much the stupidest nerds to have ever been on my television (or, should I say, my computer) in awhile. And not “nerds” as in “this is a cute insult” (that definitely fits as well, though) but actual nerds. Legit, stupid nerds who like each other a lot. This is the first time in awhile that I haven't written something that isn't a) an AU or b) somewhat dark so I apologize in advance for... anything that's wrong with it. Title from "On The Night My Love Broke Through" by Cold War Kids.

Jared's standing in the kitchen making brownies or, that's what Richard could guess at given the scattered ingredients left on the counter as Jared stands there, stirring something in a large bowl. Richard wants to be impressed because it seems like Jared's made them from scratch instead of using a box mix that was probably stuffed into a cabinet somewhere (he didn't even know they had real chocolate anywhere that wasn't part of a candy bar, unless he was using hot cocoa mix) but it was difficult, considering that it was three in the morning and he was _baking_.

Richard may not know a lot of things, but he knows enough to know that anybody doing something like this in the middle of night means there's something probably wrong. Possibly. (Maybe he's dreaming but, if he is, this is one of the weirder ones. Not that his dreams weren't generally weird since, you know, that's the _point_ of dreams but having one about a guy you work with (a friend, he's a friend) making brownies is almost _too_ normal to be anything but strange.)

"What are you doing?" It's obvious but it's the only question he can come up with at the time. Jared stops stirring abruptly and looks up as if he doesn't know where he is or who's talking to him. Maybe this was Jared sleepwalking because people do that, Richard has seen it happen before, and he's trying to scrounge his brain for what you're supposed to do when Jared says:

"I'm making brownies."

"Okay," Richard says, scratching the back of his head because what else is there? He thinks he'll just go back to bed and let Jared do whatever it is he's doing but he's gone back to stirring and Richard is kind of awake now so he walks further into the kitchen to stand on the other side of the counter. Standing on his toes, he peers into the bowl and it's definitely brownie batter in there. "Why?" Jared stops stirring again.

"I don't know," he says, starting to move his arm counter-clockwise. The oven beeps behind him but he doesn't acknowledge it. This conversation isn't going exactly how Richard expected but he knows he isn't dreaming and Jared isn't sleepwalking, so there's that at least.

"Are you... okay?" It seemed like the next logical step.

"Sure," Jared says, putting the spoon down and pulling a small pan closer to the bowl. Richard watches as Jared carefully lifts the bowl and tries to pour the mix into the pan but it's so thick that nothing happens so he puts it back down, sighing slowly. Richard has seen someone else react like this when faced with a minor annoyance and it normally ended with the nearest breakable object hitting a wall. Instead, Jared picks up the bowl with one hand and uses the discarded spoon to scrape out the mixture, spinning the utensil so the back could be used to spread the batter evenly along the bottom of the pan. It's oddly mesmerizing and, for a moment, Richard forgets what time it is and why he had decided to stay in the kitchen in the first place.

"Are you sure?" Richard doesn't get a response so he changes the subject back to the brownies. "No nuts?" He hates nuts in brownies (he's always hated them) so he's not positive why he's even bothering to bring them up. He hopes that he managed to keep the optimism of the potential of nut-less-ness in his voice rather than a false disappointment.

"No nuts."

"Chocolate chips? Coconut?" He hates those two as well. Why couldn't brownies ever just be brownies? Peanut butter, mint, frosting, sprinkles; it's all an unnecessary mess. He tells Jared this because his head is still a little fuzzy and his filter is iffy and Jared listens, nodding as if he completely understands before turning to lower the heavy pan into the oven. There's no timer set (Jared has made these before, Richard figures, since he doesn't see a recipe anywhere around the area) and Jared turns back to face him. Richard wants to inquire for a second time why Jared is making brownies at three in the morning in the middle of the week but he'll probably get the same answer. He eyes the spoon instead, pointing at it subtly. "Can I have that?" He knows there are raw eggs in there, he can hear his mother's warning in the back of his head, but he's feeling adventurous tonight.

"I suppose," Jared says, gesturing towards it while he takes the now-empty bowl to the sink to begin cleaning. Even uncooked, the batter tastes far superior to any kind Richard had failed to make from a box in the past and he finishes much faster than he had planned. Richard is left, then, to stare hungrily at the oven, waiting. He wants to go peek inside, just to make sure they weren't already finished—he even goes to stand in front of the oven—but he knows it's only been five-or-so minutes since they'd gone in so, alternatively, he decides to watch Jared.

"That's really good," Richard tells him, staring up at his profile, handing him the spoon he had molested with his tongue.

"I probably screwed something up," Jared says. "I haven't made them in months." He pauses. "Thank you."

“Can you cook other things?” Because now Richard is thinking: why have they bothered with takeout this entire time if they had a guy around who actually knew how to use most of the appliances in the kitchen? Richard could live with having someone who knew how to roast a chicken or do something fancy with broccoli. Even if all Jared can do is baked goods, that's better than nothing. Jared glances at him and goes back to scrubbing the bowl.

“Nothing complicated.” He moves on to the spoon and Richard absent-mindedly picks up a towel and starts drying the water from the bowl. Richard takes the spoon from him next and gives it the same treatment. “I can make lasagna,” Jared says, shutting off the hot water and beginning to clear up the bottles and bags of ingredients that had been left behind on the counter. He doesn't say anything else for a moment and Richard figures that's it, brownies and lasagna, which is fine. “I made an entire Thanksgiving dinner by myself once.”

“What? Why?” Richard doesn't get a reply and he watches as Jared adjusts a bottle of vanilla in the cabinet above the microwave, carefully spinning it until it's just right and the label is facing outwards and then he moves it around just a bit more which Richard figures is Jared's way of saying he'd rather not talk about it.

“I lied,” Jared says suddenly. “I lied to you. I'm so sorry.”

“Lied? Lied about what?” Richard assumes this has to do with why he's up so late and a million different possible situations go through his head. Maybe, in spite of everything he confessed to Richard, he's going to leave, maybe he never finished college, maybe his name isn't really Jared (well, nevermind on that one) but then Jared surprises him.

“I'm making these brownies for you.”

“Really?” Richard's asking a lot of questions but he doesn't know what else he's supposed to say.

“My grandmother used to make them for me whenever she felt I was too stressed.” Jared closes the cabinet, presses his hands against the edge of the sink before dropping them to curl his fingers into loose fists the way Richard realizes that he's noticed him do when he's nervous (which is almost all the time). “She made them for me a lot.” He says it with a laugh so Richard laughs with him because it seems like the right option but also because he's using the time to figure out the right way to respond to a guy anxiously making him brownies in the middle of the night. It's kind of nice, actually, because nobody's really done anything like this for him recently, nothing that wasn't motivated somehow by money or an impending deadline that just the brief thought of makes his stomach roil, just a bit. “Are you alright? Is it your stomach again?” There's a hand hovering over Richard's arm and he figures he must have visibly reacted to his sudden nausea. Richard shakes his head and then nods, swallowing and taking in a deep breath.

“It's fine. I'm fine. I just—”

“I'll get you some water, that always helps.” Richard watches as Jared pulls a somewhat clean glass from the counter, rinses it out first and then fills it with cold water from the fridge, which he then places gingerly in Richard's hand. There are some days where Richard feels like it's unusual that Jared knows these things, knows how to read him so easily but then there are other times (like right now) where he realizes that he's really relieved that there's somebody currently in his life that understands what's going on with him, especially during moments when he's not even fully sure he knows himself. “Is that better?”

“Uh, yeah.” Richard takes a few sips. “Yeah. Better.”

“Good.” The oven door is opened and they're blasted with hot air and the smell of chocolate and Jared inspects the pan of batter for a moment before slowly closing the door again and straightening his back. There's this sort of silence between them but it isn't necessarily awkward.

“Hey, Jared,” Richard starts, puts the glass down and then changes his mind, feels like he needs something solid to hold onto.

“Yes?” Richard's stuck now though, he has no idea what he had planned on saying next and Jared's just staring at him expectantly but so incredibly patient and it nearly makes him overwhelmed so he just goes with whatever his body wants and apparently that meant putting a hand on Jared's arm. Jared glances down at the touch but doesn't move to push it away and Richard thinks that maybe he can see Jared's cheeks flush pink, but it's difficult to really tell in the dim kitchen lighting. “Do you—”

“Jared.”

“...Yes?” Jared repeats himself, his face a combination of confusion and concern and Richard doesn't blame him but he doesn't answer and lowers the water, puts his other hand on Jared's other arm, taking just a single step closer. Nobody ever accused Richard of being particularly good at this sort of thing and he flashes back to a moment in high school where he had attempted to tell a girl that he liked her and wound up sweating through his shirt and accidentally touching her chest which resulted in a slap across the face. 

Jared's expression shifts into something that resembles a sort of sadness (and maybe a little panic) and his mouth moves for a few seconds before he actually speaks. “Did I do something wrong? Am I being—” Richard lifts himself up a bit and kisses him because he doesn't know how else to tell him that he's probably done the least amount of wrong out of everyone in the damn house and he feels like kind of a jerk for taking this long to really realize it. He supposes that he could have just _said that_ with real words but, somehow, this seemed like the way to go.

Jared still won't touch him but he leans into it a bit and, when Richard finally pulls away, Jared blinks down at him, clearing his throat.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh.” Shit. That wasn't right. Richard must have read the whole situation badly and he just ruined everything because that's just something he tends to do a lot these days but then Jared is reaching down to grab his face and kiss him clumsily back. 

Things don't progress much further than that though because after a minute or two Jared's moving back, obviously flustered and apologizing, saying something about not wanting the brownies to burn, despite the fact that Richard is pretty sure that brownies take a little longer than that. He wants to respond, to say something about not believing that Jared would interrupt what was currently going on to check on his food, but then he remembers that this was Jared he was staring at as he takes the pan from the oven and starts poking a toothpick into the brown mass in different spots and maybe he's not so surprised after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this one before the first Richard/Jared fic I wound up posting because I couldn't find a good way to end this and I decided that I didn't like it but after re-reading it, I realized it wasn't awful so, hey, why not share. Also just as a general note: this was written after I finished watching season one but it's vague enough that I think it could fit during this current season and, I guess, take place before Jared moved into that weird neighbor man's guest house (it was a guest house, right?).


End file.
